Masks
by zosimos
Summary: Sceptre of Flamel: Prompt #25 of 50. Roy struggles with his new station in life.


Edward would not let Roy accompany him on his infrequent trips into town. "They have your wanted poster still hanging right outside the General Store," Edward said pragmatically. "They don't get a lot of news out here and one look at you, even after several months in the woods and the jig is up." When Edward went into town he was gone for nearly the entire day, and occasionally for two to three days at a time.

That left Roy to his own devices for a while. At first he used the time to catch up on chores; but there usually wasn't much to catch up on. The majority of the books that Edward kept he wasn't interested in; he'd read them out of boredom but Edward kept some really esoteric alchemy texts in the tiny cabin and there was only so many times he could read about mutagenics before his head hurt.

He practiced with the weapons that Edward was teaching him with, a long spear was Edward's weapon of choice for most combat but Roy was finding he preferred the sword over the spear. He would practice the forms that Edward taught him, and the old military training with a saber at least gave him a springboard for learning to fight with the double-edged great sword.

Roy would try to meditate occasionally but he couldn't quite get the hang of that. He would bring his wings out and look at them, at what they symbolized. He taught himself how to move quickly with them out, both on the ground and in the air. It was amazing how intuitive it was, Edward was right. He wouldn't fly too high, but he would circle the area they lived in; and go fly over the sparkling freshwater lake that provided them with both food and water.

Landing was something he was working on getting the hang of, but he at least had the flying part down. His wings fanned out, he would fly low over the lake, the tips of his wings skimming the surface of the lake, leaving ripples behind him.

It was late summer when Edward went into town this time. He left early in the morning, the sun just breaking over the horizon; a knapsack on his back to carry back supplies. Roy saw him off as he always did, and watched Edward disappear down the partially overgrown path into the woods.

He sat out on the porch and watched the sun come up. With very little to do he could sit and wonder what was happening in the world, secluded as they were. There was truly nothing keeping him here but his promise to Edward that he wouldn't leave, that they would stay together. He could just as easily fly out and find out what the political climate was; what was going on with his men, if the military was still in turmoil or not. He felt completely ashamed that he ran out on the conflict, even if it was not entirely his own doing. He was in control of himself now, he could return.

But what would that give him? Samael did his worst, and his worst was horrific. Roy still had the occasional nightmares. He didn't even know if his men knew the truth or not, or if they thought Roy had snapped and become a murdering lunatic all on his own.

Roy sighed, looking up at the sky. The firewood wouldn't get chopped all on its own. It was best to get that done before the sun was too high in the sky, and it made it too hot to work easily. He started to get up when Roy realized suddenly that he was not alone.

There was a man sitting on the porch with him. Roy started to his feet in surprise. For a split-second he thought it was the ghost of Maes Hughes to haunt him but then he realized that the resemblance to his long-dead friend was mostly in his mind. The man had a similar build to Maes and a similar hairstyle, but that was where any resemblance actually ended. "Who are you?" Roy said, his voice even and not showing his surprise, despite his jumping to his feet.

"It's pretty here," the man said, leaning back on his hands, his legs sprawled out in front of him, crossed at the ankle. "I can see why you'd want to stay." He glanced up at Roy, the man's eyes were a dark brown, nearly black. "The others are beginning to wonder how long you're planning on staying away, my lord."

The weapons were not at hand, and Roy no longer wore his gloves. He was defenseless. He put his back against one of the pillars that held the roof over the porch and crossed his arms. "I don't know what you're talking about," Roy said, although he had a good idea. "Or who you are, or how you found me here."

"I'm hurt," the man stood up. He towered over Roy, nearly a head taller than him. He didn't move toward Roy or threaten him, in fact he put his hands into his trouser pockets and presented a non-threatening profile. "But since you're playing this game, I'm Barakiel."

"I don't have any idea who you are," Roy said evenly.

"Yeah, you do," Barakiel said. His grin was unsettling. "I don't know why you're playing around with the angel, my lord, but you'll figure it out soon enough."

And then he was gone, like he didn't exist. Roy looked around sharply, the man with the angel name had not flown off, he had not walked away, he was just _gone._

Roy took a deep breath and didn't move. The darkness that still coiled in his belly that he fought every day against seemed to grow just that little bit stronger. He swallowed and closed his eyes, trying to fight it back down as it told him seductive lies about the power that awaited him down that path. All he had to do was snap Sariel's neck, and he could walk away from all of this. He could find his men again and they could pick up where they left off...

"No!" Roy slammed the back of his fist against the pillar, stopping the train of thought and opening his eyes. He was stronger than Samael, no matter what Samael's men might think. He would not fall of his own volition.

Still, even now he stood at that precipice. And there was nothing he could do about it.


End file.
